


Infinite Silken Wings

by Mithen



Category: DCU
Genre: Frank Miller - Freeform, M/M, Not a Happy Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-21
Updated: 2008-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superman can fly but doesn't know it.  Batman knows it but doesn't tell him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infinite Silken Wings

**Author's Note:**

> I set myself a challenge to write a Clark and Bruce I could understand while remaining as true as possible to Frank Miller's vision of them.

The sun is just starting to sink into a welter of bloody clouds as Batman waits on top of a Gotham skyscraper for Superman.  He hears the footsteps on the fire escape and smiles very slightly to himself.  He understands Superman inside and out, knows his capacities, knows his potentialities.  If Batman chooses not to share those possibilities with the hero, that's his choice. 

The man could jump to the top, at least, but he thinks he looks silly bouncing onto rooftops.

He's right.

Batman listens to the metallic clattering growing closer and turns his back on the fire escape.  Never look like you're anticipating something.  Anticipation implies power--and in the wrong direction, in the wrong hands.  His gauntlets creak very slightly as his hands flex into fists, locking around the air.  The footsteps reach the top.  There's a pause of silence;  Superman is watching him stand there, silhouetted against the dying sun.  Batman's spine goes stiff and the smile touching his lips tightens into something else, he's not sure what.

Superman is looking at him.

After a moment, Superman clears his throat.  Batman whips around and stalks over to him.  "You're finally here."  He debates calling the other man "Clark" for a moment, to see once again the flicker of emotion that goes through those blue eyes when Batman calls him by his real name.  But it wouldn't be practical;  too much risk of being overheard.  _You're finally here, Clark,_ he growls in his own mind instead, and feels the same satisfaction.  He understands the hero better than Clark understands himself--and at his heart, he's merely a nice boy from Kansas, given powers he has no way of understanding, that he doesn't _deserve._   Clark Kent limits himself, narrows down his own scope.  Batman understands what he can do, and understands that he shrinks from it.

Power in the wrong hands.

Clark crosses his arms over the bright insignia on his chest.  "Why did you want to see me?"

"Intergang is moving into Gotham."

Clark looks confused.  "Why are you telling me this?  It isn't like you'll let me do anything to help."

Batman narrows his eyes, watching the hero standing there, there because _he_ called him there, told him to come.  If Clark doesn't understand why he's there, he's more of an idiot than he looks.  "I just wanted to inform you that you'd failed in halting their spread to other towns."

Clark purses his lips.  "I ran all the way from Metropolis just so you could give me your scolding in person?  You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say--" 

Whatever he's about to say is cut off as he stares suddenly over Batman's shoulder.  " _Damn!"_

Batman whirls to see a helicopter closing on the building, to see the missiles launching from it.

Apparently Intergang has decided to try and kill two birds with one stone.

The impact is deafening;  the world disappears in a roar of dust and debris, bits of metal whining by Batman's head.  Clark is there, shrapnel pinging off invulnerable skin as he wraps his arms around Batman, pulls him close, they're falling together.  Superman can survive the final impact;  Batman won't.

He could say something.

He could tell Clark how to save him.  And Clark would.

Clark's arms are around him as they fall.

He says nothing.

And then suddenly, sickeningly, the world is falling away from both of them, as if it's flinging them up and away.  Batman hears Clark's gasp of shock that shifts to delight, and they're soaring, gravity clawing at Batman's gut, everything dropping away below them, higher.  Higher.  Higher.

It's silent.  Batman looks down.  The Earth curves below the two of them, lambent and delicate.  Clouds move across the seas, veil the wrinkled mountain ranges.  The Earth stretches below them, a gentle arc of brilliant blue-green.  Batman looks at Clark's face, which is lit with rapture, transcendent with some emotion Batman can't read.  "My God..." Clark whispers, Earthlight on his face.  "Bruce.  Look.  Look how beautiful it is."

Batman can't catch his breath in the thin, rarified air.  There's something shifting in Clark's face, behind his eyes, he's going somewhere Batman can't--won't--go.  With one arm still around Batman, Clark reaches out a hand as if to caress the Earth.  "Look," he whispers again.  He smiles at Batman as if they're sharing some revelation, as if they're brothers and comrades.  He smiles at Batman as if he loves him.

"Take me back to Gotham, Clark," Batman says, his voice thin, and Clark's smile dims.

"Hold on, then," Clark says, and puts both arms around Batman again.  He descends straight down, slowly, his eyes locked on Batman's, his body very close.  Their capes slither and rustle around them, black and red flowing around them and above them, sinuous and serpentine.

Clark's feet touch the Earth again and he lets go of Batman.  They're in the gardens of Wayne Manor.  "Bruce," Clark says again.  "What's wrong?"  He looks concerned, his brow furrowed;  he looks worried and caring;  he looks as though nothing at all has changed between the two of them.  As if he hasn't been changed irrevocably.  He still looks like an sweet-natured farm boy. 

The only difference is that now they _both_ know it's a lie.

"Nothing."

Clark tilts his head, listening.  "I need to go," he says softly.

"I can't keep you," Batman says.

For a second, Clark looks like he might say something more.  And then he's gone, an arrow of justice in the sky, winging away, power beyond all control.

Batman doesn't stay to watch him go.

 **: : :**

That night is the first time Batman uses the computer to contact the black market, the first time he arranges to buy Kryptonite.  Half a gram.  Not much.  A beginning.  He nods, satisfied. 

That night is the first time he's weak, the first time he wakes up to find himself aroused and taut from a dream that he cannot remember, cannot remember.  He rubs and strokes the aching flesh that has betrayed him, that betrays him further by refusing to submit, refusing to obey him.  Batman keeps his mind blank.  He thinks of nothing, sees nothing but the darkness behind his eyelids.  He tugs at the traitor flesh, groaning, until his thrashing legs stir the bedsheets into sound.  He falls into that rustling like infinite silken wings, gasping for air, ferocious climax clamping his jaws shut over words he will not utter.

He falls asleep again hating himself for his weakness, because it's the easiest thing to hate himself for.


End file.
